


Never Walk Away

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Attempted Seduction, Attempted Sexual Assault, Dancer Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Sheriff Stilinski, M/M, Mild Language, Mobster Peter Hale, Murder, One-Sided Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Undercover Cop Derek Hale, non-con kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-eight year old federal agent Derek Hale has been out of the family for some time, and he likes it that way. After six years of no contact with Laura, everything changes when Derek is sent back to Beacon Hills to infiltrate his old family.</p><p>And that’s how Derek meets Stiles.</p><p>Stiles is Peter’s favorite dancer. He’s Peter’s arm candy. He’s his little trophy to flaunt. The son of the one man who almost put Peter away–a cautionary tale for people to heed when thinking about going against Peter. Everyone knows the Sheriff is still in the hospital, his wife in a grave, his son in the devil’s den.</p><p>Derek doesn’t buy into it for a second. There is a way Stiles looks at Peter, like he’s the scum of the earth–like he’s a piece of gum stuck on his shoe that he can’t wait to scrape off. There is the way Stiles only lets Peter touch him for so long before he pulls away.</p><p>Derek knows that Stiles is there for ulterior motives, but Stiles is smarter than he looks. He’s more determined. If only Derek could get Stiles on his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCriminal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCriminal/gifts).



> First of all, all the thanks to [kilaem](http://kilaem.tumblr.com/) for listening to my ramblings. We're actually perfecting a playlist for this fic.
> 
> The idea for this fic, including the title, comes from The Weeknd's [In the Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c06YGFpd32U).
> 
> The non-con elements that occur are between Peter and Stiles. Sexual intercourse between Peter and Stiles does **not** happen.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  **Edit 12/20/2015:** With the help of kilaem/TheCriminal, there is now a playlist available to listen to while reading this fic. You can find it on 8tracks, [here](http://8tracks.com/dexterous_sinistrous/never-walk-away).

Derek was out. He has been out for years, ever since the night of the fire. He walked away from Beacon Hills. He walked away from his sister. He walked away from the family.

Derek didn’t realize, however, that he could never truly walk away. The minute his feet touched down off the airplane, he realized that he was pulled right back in.

Derek wasn’t surprised to find one of Peter’s men waiting for him when he reached the hotel. He pretended that he didn’t notice him the minute he walked into the lobby. He kept his eyes focused on the concierge. He didn’t even react when the concierge offered him a small envelope, a small look of fear falling over the older man’s face.

That was the effect Peter usually had on people.

Derek sighed as he opened the envelope. _‘Dear nephew, Follow Ennis. Try not to make a scene.’_ Simple instructions. He turned around to find Ennis standing by the man he had noticed earlier. He didn’t bother to give either men a gesture of recognition before he turned back to the concierge.

“Can you make sure my bags make it up to my room?” Derek asked, knowing that the concierge was bound to bend over backwards if it meant pleasing Peter Hale.

“Of course, sir,” the concierge politely replied.

Derek offered a curt nod before departing from the desk. He walked directly past the two men as he headed outside, knowing that the town car he saw out there was the one Peter sent with them to collect him. He spent too many times being _collected_ by his family.

“Your uncle’s waiting for you,” Ennis answered.

“Not surprised he kept you around,” Derek commented as he ignored Ennis’ presence almost entirely as he ducked into the car.

“I don’t know, Hale, I think there are quite a few surprises in store for you,” Ennis replied as he closed the door behind Derek.

Derek hated that Ennis was right.

The Red Wolf—Peter’s prized possession among his holdings in Beacon Hills.

The club was busier than Derek ever remembered it being. The music was deafening as the crowd of faceless people swayed back and forth in rhythm to the beat. The lights were blinding as they flickered across the dance floor, an encouragement for people to lose themselves.

That’s when Derek saw Stiles for the first time.

Stiles was dancing on his own personal dance table. It was stationed in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by the dancing customers. Many of them stared up in awe at the way Stiles moved. The way his hips swayed back and forth, in complete flow with the music as the beat drummed out of the speakers. Stiles canted his hips with practice, practically twirling across the small area as his hands moved to place his body on display.

Stiles’ eyes connected with Derek’s, holding his gaze as he continued to dance like no one else was watching him. There was a faint smile in his eyes—a spark of laughter and want. Something else was there as well, and Derek hoped it wasn’t recognition.

Derek tore his eyes away from Stiles, aware of the figure moving towards him with purpose. He immediately recognized Peter. His body grew rigid when Peter moved to embrace him, hugging him tightly as if nothing had changed between them.

Peter clapped his hand on Derek’s back, a smile decorating his features. He gestured for Derek to follow him back towards the VIP lounge secluding them from the crowd, separating them with a small ledge of bars and a wall of enforcers.

Even with the music and lights’ attempts to distract Derek, all he could focus on was that fact that Peter was only a few feet from him—how he could choke the life from Peter before any of the other men stopped him. He imagined just how long it would take him to actually strangle Peter—if he could really get away with it before one of the men put a bullet in him.

All the reasons he stressed on the plane ride back about why he would be justified in ending Peter started to flood back to him. For Peter forcing him to become an enforcer. For Peter forcing him to choose between family and a clean life. For Peter killing Laura.

Derek was torn from his thoughts when Peter finally handed him a drink. He took it, still unwilling to say anything as he sat across the couch from Peter.

“I have a gift for you,” Peter announced over the music, his smile was playful but knowing. “Call it a peace offering, nephew,” he stated through a smile, the words’ other meaning evident in the way his uncle looked satisfied with himself. That was when Peter tossed a necklace at Derek, forcing him to catch it mid-air with his free hand.

Derek turned the necklace over, examining it. He knew this necklace—even with it covered in blood. It had haunted his dreams for years. He remembered it being around Kate’s neck the night of the fire.

“Ding dong, the bitch is dead,” Peter elaborated in a sing-song voice as he lit a cigarette. The glow of the lighter illuminated Peter’s face in the club’s darkness.

Derek stared at Peter, the necklace growing heavy in his hand as the blood cooled against his skin. He tried to rationalize it—Peter had always hated Kate, so it made sense why he would want her dead. But Peter always blamed Derek for the fire—for allowing Kate into their lives without a second thought of what could happen to the family. Clearly, Peter forgot how he felt about family the minute he killed Laura.

“What do you want, Peter?” Derek finally asked him.

Peter carefully eyed Derek, pulling the cigarette from between his lips, easily blowing the smoke from his nostrils. He appeared at ease, as if Derek’s questioned didn’t faze him in the slightest. He looked at Ennis, nodding his head towards Derek.

Ennis handed Derek a warm cloth, taking the necklace from him.

Derek wasn’t stupid. He knew what Peter was doing. He had Derek’s fingerprints on the necklace now, which made Peter believe he had something to blackmail Derek with. He didn’t hesitate in taking the cloth from Ennis, wiping Kate’s blood from his hands.

“Now that you have _that_ ,” Derek gestured towards the necklace Ennis was retreating with. “Are you going to tell me what you want?”

“I want my nephew back,” Peter answered with a harmless smile. Derek wanted to laugh at that—nothing was harmless about Peter. “Is it too much to ask for that?”

“You seem awfully trusting,” Derek stated, unceremoniously dropping the cloth Ennis had given him onto the table.

“No, Derek,” Peter corrected with a laugh. “I’m not you. I don’t trust anyone.”

Peter’s eyes gave him away as he looked over to the dance floor, his gaze lingering on Stiles’ dancing form. “I keep reminders in place—reasons I can’t trust people.”

“Who’s the kid?” Derek asked, finding it easier to confront Peter than anything else.

Peter’s eyes found their way back to Derek. “He’s mine,” he smugly stated.

“Clearly he’s got more meaning than that,” Derek replied, knowing that he could still push Peter some.

Peter released a laugh, his eyes looking over at Ennis when he gestured towards them. He easily extinguished his cigarette in the tray on the table. “I’ve missed you, nephew,” he stated as he stood up. “Don’t go too far. I think I have a job for you.”

“And if I don’t want it?” Derek countered as he followed his uncle’s lead in standing up.

“It’s not the type of job you refuse,” Peter answered. “But then again, you know that.”

“What makes you think you can even trust me with this job?” Derek asked Peter’s retreating form.

Peter halted before he turned to look at Derek. “Because you’re family, Derek. And family is always welcomed back—despite the circumstances.” He offered Derek a smile, clapping his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back. Have fun tonight—whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Derek let Peter walk away from him, keeping his eyes on his uncle as he made his rounds before heading to the back room. He caught sight of Ennis helping Stiles off of his dance table, following behind the kid as he moved to speak with Peter.

Peter leaned into Stiles’ space, whispering something in his ear. His hand rested firmly along the small of Stiles’ back, his fingertips lightly dancing along the exposed skin there.

Stiles, for his part, turned his head away from Peter, eyes scanning the club as he listened to what Peter had to say. His eyes connected with Derek’s. He nodded to what Peter said, turning to look at him once more to say something. His head suddenly jerked from Peter, turning his lips out of Peter’s reach when he tried to lean in.

A smile danced across Peter’s lips before he pressed them against Stiles’ forehead. Derek didn’t miss the way Peter watched Stiles depart from him, his eyes lingering on Stiles longer than necessary.

Derek moved to the bar, not wanting to remain in the VIP section where Peter’s eyes and ears were strongest. He decided to linger for a while before heading back to the hotel to prepare for Laura’s funeral tomorrow. For now, though, he rationalized that it was acceptable to get rip roaring drunk.

Derek was surprised when he felt a body press against his, slipping into the seat beside him. He turned his head to see none other than Stiles sitting next to him, his eyes practically sparkling against the club’s harsh strobe lights.

“This is the part where you buy me a drink,” Stiles stated as his eyes playfully watched Derek.

Derek remembered reading Stiles’ dossier inside out multiple times. Stiles was only nineteen—he had been working with Peter for more than a year, ever since he turned eighteen. He graduated with honors, and had several scholarships lined up to head off to college. But the minute he turned eighteen, he left his foster parents behind and found himself dancing at Peter’s club.

It all baffled Derek. Stiles’ father—Ex-Sheriff Stilinski—had been the one person to come close enough to bringing Peter and his entire operation down. Laura had always been careful—the rational head of the family as Peter started to use the family for his own reasons. Peter was rash and cruel where Laura was practical and merciful. The old Sheriff was about to make the appropriate arrests and calls that would crumple the family. Peter saw to it that it never happened.

The Stilinski’s car had been tampered with. The crash had severely injuring the Sheriff, leaving him comatose in the hospital, while instantly killing his wife. Stiles was in the backseat when it happened. He didn’t have a scratch on him. Stiles was pushed from foster home to foster home, but not without Peter’s eyes on him. When Stiles became eighteen, the medical bills that had been piling up over the years landed on him. He had no way of paying them, and his foster parents weren’t interested in taking care of them.

So Stiles turned to Peter. At least, that was what Stiles wanted everyone to think. Derek didn't buy it.

Stiles was Peter’s favorite dancer. He was Peter’s arm candy, constantly present by Peter’s side at all times. Peter had a collar and leash around Stiles’ neck, and he knew when people got too close to him. But Stiles had a way of talking someone’s ear off. He had a way of getting people to tell him things.

Derek remembered the agents telling him that Peter used Stiles to scope out cops and agents in the club—that Stiles reported back to Peter, and the only reason they were spared was because Stiles asked Peter to. Apparently, Stiles would bat his eyelashes at Peter, and ask him to let the people go, and everyone went home alive those nights.

Derek knew that reading Stiles’ dossier was a big mistake the minute he opened his mouth. “You’re a little young for alcohol,” he snorted.

Stiles frowned in response, his eyebrows knitting together as he thought about Derek’s words. Everyone bought him drinks. The bartender would actually hand Stiles a drink if he wanted, but he liked it more when people bought him the drinks.

Fuck. Derek knew he was utter shit at acting like he knew less than he did.

“I didn’t realize that we had met before,” Stiles stated as he watched Derek push his glass back onto the bar.

“Peter likes people to know what’s his,” Derek replied, gesturing at the bartender to give him his jacket.

“I’m not Peter’s,” Stiles bitterly snapped.

Derek filed that away for later.

“Says the go-go boy who walks like he owns the place,” Derek replied, moving to pull his jacket on. He was surprised when Stiles grabbed a handful of Derek’s jacket, preventing him from pulling it on.

“If I’m _Peter’s_ , then shouldn’t you be a little scared to even be talking to me?” Stiles defiantly asked, as if it was a threat to Derek’s very existence when he pushed his body into his.

Derek easily pushed back against Stiles, caging him in against the bar. He noticed the flicker of astonishment crossing the kid’s features before he quickly hid them beneath his calm mask once more. “Peter told me to have fun tonight,” Derek stated as he leaned closer to Stiles. “That whatever I wanted, I could have.”

Stiles searched Derek’s face, tongue flicking across his lips as his eyes fell across Derek’s own lips. “I doubt Peter would appreciate an underling trying anything with me.”

“I’m not an underling,” Derek stated, seeing how far he could test Stiles’ determination to act like he was handling himself just fine. “I’m his nephew.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise. “You’re … you’re Derek Hale?”

Derek was curious what Stiles had heard about him. He knew he had garnered a reputation before he left—enough of one to not let others question him coming back. “I’ll see you around, Stiles,” he offered back, easily pulling his jacket out of Stiles’ grip.

Derek knew that the linchpin to bringing Peter down was Stiles. He just didn’t know how to get him on his side.

~*~

Peter didn’t bring Derek in right away. The FBI was getting more impatient with just how long it was taking Derek to gain Peter’s acceptance. Peter kept Derek close, but not as close as the agents wanted.

Derek made the runs his uncle told him to do, ignoring the way the other members watched him. Many of the storeowners remembered him from his days when Laura was in charge. They smiled and greeted him warmly, all more than happy to offer Derek the money due. It made Derek feel sick that he had become so accustomed to it. He wanted to back away from it all.

Every night he sat in the Red Wolf with Peter, sitting there as his uncle discussed business without actually discussing it. Peter was flaunting it all by working in front of him. Derek pretended not to care as he aimlessly scanned their surroundings. He couldn’t feign disinterest when it came to Stiles.

It became a running joke for Stiles to slide up next to him, asking for a drink. Derek always replied with ordering him a Coke. Stiles would smile at that, actually moving to take it from the bartender. He would smile as his lips wrapped around the straw, batting his eyelashes as he smugly looked up at Derek, suggestively running his mouth along the plastic tube.

Derek pretended not to notice—for Stiles’ sake just as much as for his own. If Peter even thought there was a slight chance that anything was happening between them, it wouldn’t end well for anyone.

After months of suffering Peter’s meager errands, he finally called him to the club with the intent of sending him on a job with Ennis. Only, he never got to.

“Derek,” Peter smiled when he arrived as the enforcers moved for Derek to make his way into the VIP lounge. “You remember Deucalion, don’t you?”

Derek turned his attention to the middle-aged man sitting on the adjacent couch. He remembered him. He also remembered that Laura refused to do business with him. He was a trafficker—drugs, guns, people; anything his customer needed.

“You look a great deal like your mother,” Deucalion commented with a fond smile that Derek didn’t care for.

Derek offered a curt nod to register that he heard him.

The meeting was half way through, Derek keeping an ear on everything Peter and Deucalion were talking about. That was when he caught sight of Stiles standing by the bar, talking to two young men. The men were likely new to the Red Wolf, not understanding that Stiles was off-limits to anything other than dancing.

Derek could tell that Stiles had grown annoyed with their advances when he moved one of their hands from its spot touching his thigh. Something in Derek started to twist when he saw the men animatedly apologize before offering to share a drink with Stiles. It was then that Derek saw one of them slip something into the drink Stiles had on the bar top.

Derek immediately stood, not bothering to excuse himself as he made a direct march towards Stiles. He knew Stiles was keeping an eye on him—it was a game they seemed to play with each other throughout the nights Stiles danced and Derek worked. Interest sparked in Stiles’ eyes when Derek was close enough. Derek immediately snatched the drink from Stiles’ hand before he could move to press the glass to his lips.

“I think I’ll do the merciful thing and give you a head start,” Derek dangerously stated to the two men as he pushed the glass back onto the bar and towards the bartender. “Peter Hale doesn’t take kindly to drugs being forced on others, especially on his premises.”

Derek knew the two men understood what Derek was implying, almost watching with a type of glee when the men fled. He suddenly remembered how he was related to his uncle—the same sick pleasure they seemed to garner from watching other’s cower under their heel. His victory was short lived when he felt how shaky Stiles was beneath his arm—which Derek didn’t recall when he had slung his arm over Stiles to begin with.

“Take a few deep breaths,” Derek instructed him as he looked over his shoulder, ready to flag Ennis over. He was startled with surprise when Peter was lingering behind him.

“What the hell was that?” Peter demanded from Derek, his eyes looking at Stiles with concern.

It was strange for Derek to see his uncle like this.

“Do you want to tell me why the fuck you let two rapists flee?” Peter snapped when Derek didn’t answer his first question.

“I didn’t think you would want them on your property when punishment befell them,” Derek answered, arching his eyebrows at his uncle.

Peter’s features softened some as he looked at Derek. “Ah,” he offered, his eyes falling back on Stiles. “Good thinking. I’ll send Ennis to make sure the proper actions are taken in reprimanding them.”

Derek didn’t envy anyone who managed to bring those words out of his uncle.

“Good job, Derek,” Peter offered before he turned to head back to his meeting with Deucalion.

“Peter,” Stiles softly called his name, his hand reaching out to grasp at Peter as he moved out from beneath Derek’s arm. It was as if Stiles remembered last minute who he was exactly touching. He let his hand slip from Peter, a look of repulsion at his action crossing his features.

Peter had immediately turned when he heard Stiles’ voice, moving to stand closer to him. He held up his hand to silence Ennis when he began to warn him that Deucalion was growing restless.

“I’d like to go home for the night,” Stiles finally explained. He looked up at Peter, taking in the stony expression as one that wasn’t moved by his request. “If that’s okay.” He reached a hand up to run along Peter’s arm. “Please. I’ll dance for you tomorrow night.”

Peter hesitated before he nodded. “You’re right, you need a break.” He moved his arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him in close against his chest. A pleased look fell over Peter when he realized that Stiles was allowing him to hold him close without rejection. He placed a kiss against Stiles’ temple, before adding, “Go get dress. I’ll have someone escort you home.”

Stiles nodded, pulling out of Peter’s arms as he headed towards the back dressing rooms the dancers all used.

Derek’s eyes lingered on him before he looked back at Peter. He noticed that Peter had a murderous look upon him—if Stiles thought he spared those men from a death sentence by leaving the club to hide just how affected he was, he was wrong in thinking so. Derek feared for a moment that Peter was going to make him see to it when he turned his attention towards him.

“Derek, when Stiles is dressed, make sure you take him home,” Peter instructed.

“What?” Derek questioned as he took a step closer to Peter. “I thought you wanted—”

“I _want_ you to take Stiles home,” Peter dangerously replied, the spark of anger at Derek’s move to challenge him was evident in his eyes. “This is important to me, Derek. I don’t trust the others to do it.”

Derek hesitated, not wanting to agree to it. He finally nodded in agreement, inwardly cursing himself for not trying to stay assigned to the new job—one that was likely to get him the evidence the agents so desperately wanted.

“I owe you,” Peter answered as he placed a reassuring hand on Derek’s shoulder.

~*~

Stiles had been quiet the entire ride to his apartment. Derek continued to look over at him, a small reassurance that he was still there.

Stiles broke the silence when they reached his apartment. “Thank you,” he uttered as he fumbled with his keys. He swore when he dropped them, his fingers still relatively shaky.

Derek easily bent down, scooping the keys back up to hand them to Stiles. “You’re safe,” he stated. He was surprised by the scoff that Stiles emitted.

“Being safe is a precarious thing,” Stiles answered as he slotted the key into the lock, quickly turning it to unlock the door. “One minute, I’m untouchable, the next, every sleaze in the building wants to have a go at me. It’s the price one pays for being flaunted.”

“Those men,” Derek started, not knowing how to finish his sentence. “Those men would have been after you, regardless of whether or not you’re labeled as Peter’s.”

Stiles stared at Derek. He had a look of curiosity about him as he evaluated Derek. “You don’t know, huh?”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, thinking he must have missed something—he couldn’t be as informed as he thought he was.

“The reason Peter keeps me around,” Stiles started. “It’s a cruel joke, actually. He keeps me dancing, keeps me in eyesight for everyone to see so that everyone knows what happens to your family when you try to cross the line with him. Everyone in Beacon Hills knows what happened to my dad and mom. Everyone knows that Peter keeps me close because it adds a flare to his dramatics. He knows I don’t like him—that I hate him, in fact,” he released a small laugh of contempt. “He likes to have me that close because he’s convinced that he can show everyone that he can even tame those who hate him the most.”

“It’s always a game to Peter,” Derek replied.

“It’s a game he’s certain he’s going to win,” Stiles explained. “But he doesn’t realize just how well I’ve gotten at playing it.”

“When does it end?” Derek asked. He was curious how far Stiles trusted him with this.

“When one of us wins,” Stiles answered.

“How do you win?” Derek inquired, his eyes focused on Stiles.

“When he dies,” Stiles coldly stated. The anger in his eyes burned brightly, almost daring Derek to tell him he was wrong to think in such a manner.

“And if he wins?” Derek asked, knowing that Peter’s version of winning was always so much more demented.

Stiles broke eye contact with Derek for the first time, looking down between them as he stubbed his toe against the carpet. “I’m a permanent tease, you know that, right?”

“I couldn’t tell,” Derek dryly stated, a little pleased with the small laugh Stiles released.

“I’m a virgin,” Stiles finally explained, looking up at Derek. “Ever since the car … _accident_ , Peter’s made sure that I stay … _intact_ ,” he spit the word, as if it was the wording Peter had used. “I’m a virgin because Peter _likes_ me that way.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “So … he wins when I finally _give him_ what he’s always wanted.”

~*~

Stiles was less inclined to take drinks from anyone unless it was the bartender or Derek. He held onto his glasses like they were too sacred to be set down.

Derek caught the confused look Stiles sported when he heard about the two men’s deaths in the news. Stiles had looked almost relieved, but then suddenly ill, as if his relief was somehow tainted because it came at the deaths of two other people.

Peter was grateful to Derek, bringing him in on more than one different occasion. He started to give Derek more jobs, more responsibility. He gave him control over his old crew—Boyd, Isaac, and Erica were all still with the family, waiting for Derek to come back.

The three let Derek know how much they despised Peter. They all wanted Derek back. They wanted Derek to be the head like he was meant to be once Laura passed. But they all agreed that they wanted Derek happy, even if it meant that he wasn’t with the family anymore. Boyd mentioned that Laura tried, more than once, to get word to Derek that she was dismantling the family business. Erica verified it when she mentioned that no one wanted to stay around when Peter came to power—everyone was too scared to leave, though. Isaac was the quietest about it, mentioning briefly that he was afraid for Scott and Stiles.

Scott was Stiles’ childhood friend. He was a goodhearted guy who happened to be in the wrong places and the wrong time. He was on the pre-med track at the local university, though he was thinking about changing to be a vet. He ended up stitching up a few of Peter’s men in the past few months, much to Stiles’ protests. Stiles didn’t want Scott involved in anything, but Peter always got what he wanted when he pushed hard enough.

Things started to go south for Derek from the night Stiles told him about Peter’s intentions towards him. He started to keep and eye on Stiles. He started to interrupt the moments Peter and Stiles were alone. He started to realize that Stiles was keeping an eye on him. He felt Stiles’ eyes follow after him. He caught Stiles watching him as he swayed back and forth on his dance table.

There was a spark of want in Stiles’ eyes. It was a want Derek knew was raging in his core, telling him that he could take it if he wanted it. He could take what Stiles was offering and make a move to dethrone Peter. Those were the thoughts that made Derek determined to never act on whatever it was Stiles was playing at.

Derek should have realized that if he could see Peter’s attraction for Stiles, then that meant rival families saw it as well. He bit back his protests when Peter ordered everyone out on a mission. They shouldn’t have left the Red Wolf unmanned. They shouldn’t have left Stiles unattended.

Derek was the first one back from the meeting with Deucalion—it was one of the final meetings before the transaction was to go down. It was everything the agents wanted, about to be more than enough to start a full investigation against Peter. It was then that Derek entered an empty Red Wolf at it’s busiest time.

Derek walked into the back, drawing the gun that had been issued him by the bureau. He knew it was stupid to hold onto it, that if Peter wanted, he’d easily be able to trace the serial number and know that Derek still had his badge. The other part of Derek told him it was pride—that he wanted Peter to do it; to see what Peter would do to a family member who knew what he was capable of—who could fight back against him instead of suffering from an attack in the dark.

Derek wasn’t surprised that he found a body of one of their enforcers. He eased the door open to one of the dressing rooms when he saw a flicker of light. He cautiously stepped inside, halting when he caught sight of more than one blood spattered body. Derek recognized one of them as an Argent enforcer, having scuffled with the guy more than once back when he had dated Kate.

Derek immediately turned when he heard someone move behind him. He snatched the bloodied baseball bat that was swung at him, easily yanking it from the person’s grasp. He wasn’t surprised when the person decided to fight back by punching him square in the jaw.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled when he noticed it was him, dropping the baseball bat to the ground in favor of trying to hold Stiles’ swinging limbs at bay.

Stiles paused when he heard Derek’s voice, body immediately going pliant against the older man’s. He let Derek pull him close, out of the room and away from the blood.

Derek brought Stiles into Peter’s office, the most secure location in the club. He easily surveyed the office, setting Stiles down on the couch in order to inspect him once he determined that it was clear. He holstered his gun before kneeling in front of Stiles, his gut twisting when he realized just how silent Stiles was. He reached his hands up to inspect Stiles’ face. “What happened?” He asked as his eyes took in Stiles’ battered form.

Stiles’ lip was busted, an angry welt reddening around his eye. He tried to pull away from Derek’s hold, trying to shy away from it all.

“Stiles, I have to see,” Derek instructed him, reaching his hands down to run along Stiles’ arms in a soothing manner.

“They said they wanted to _play_ ,” Stiles weakly scoffed.

Derek noticed that Stiles’ cheeks were wet with tears when he finally looked up at him.

“They wanted a chance to _fuck_ me before Peter did,” Stiles bitterly stated. “So I beat their heads in with the bat,” his voice broke off, quiet as he looked down at his hands. He started rubbing them together, a weak attempt to get the blood off. “Get it off,” he almost begged off Derek as he scrubbed harder.

Derek took his suit coat off, hanging it over Stiles’ shoulders before snatching one of the bar towels, not caring if Peter was displeased with blood staining it. He took a step further when he actually grabbed one of the bottles of vodka, pouring the liquid over Stiles’ hands before he started to scrub.

When Derek finished, Stiles reached out for him, his hands gripping onto Derek’s arms in hopes that he wouldn’t leave. Derek moved to settle back into his place between Stiles’ legs.

“I’ve finally crossed the line, huh?” Stiles softly questioned. “I’m like you now.”

Derek reached a hand up, capturing Stiles’ chin in his grip. He forced Stiles to look at him. “You’ll never be like us,” he firmly answered.

Stiles’ features softened, his hands still trembling as he held onto Derek for purchase. He leaned in, hesitating with his lips only a small space away from Derek’s. He made an abortive move to push in, wanting to know what Derek’s lips would feel like.

Derek wanted to press his lips to Stiles, to know that he chose him and not Peter. And that’s when he realized that Stiles wasn’t choosing anything. He was looking for an escape from Peter—from the life—and Derek seemed to be a viable option for that. He turned his head towards the door last minute when he heard rushing footsteps followed by his uncle’s angry yells.

Derek moved to stand, aware of the way Stiles’ hands lingered on him, as if he wanted to pull him in close. He was glad Stiles dropped his hands before Peter burst through the door to find them.

“What happened?” Peter demanded as he looked from Stiles to Derek.

“Argent’s men,” Derek answered as calmly as possible, trying to hide the fact that his pulse was jackhammering. He didn’t know what Peter knew or saw, but the way he looked at Stiles said that he could connect the dots enough to tell that Stiles was shaken up.

“Are you all right?” Peter asked Stiles.

Stiles didn’t bother looking at him as he slowly nodded his head.

“We’re going to have to clean this up,” Derek stated the obvious, trying to pull Peter from focusing on Stiles.

Peter nodded. “Make sure Stiles gets home, I’ll deal with this,” he stated. He hesitated, eyes focused on Stiles before he finally departed.

Derek was the one who took Stiles home. And he was the one that Stiles pulled into bed to have hold him, no resistance from Derek as he moved to allow Stiles to use him for comfort. Because this was something Peter could never do. Peter couldn’t hold Stiles and make him feel safe like Derek did.

Peter destroyed while Derek built. Peter killed while Derek protected. Peter scared Stiles while Derek excited him.

“They're going to die,” Stiles suddenly uttered against Derek’s chest, pressing his face in closer in an attempt to shut out the world. “Peter’s going to kill them.”

“They knew he was going to,” Derek answered, not liking the reality any better than Stiles did. “Whether they succeeded or failed, they knew he’d retaliate.”

“Would you?” Stiles asked, his voice small and weak, almost as if he didn’t want to know the answer. “If you were Peter, would you kill them?”

“I’m not Peter,” Derek answered, the words heavy and raw, just like they were the day he yelled them at Laura before he left.

“But Peter doesn’t have a choice. He has to do it because of his position as the boss,” Stiles commented. Nothing about Stiles’ voice even hinted that he meant to defend Peter.

“Peter made the choice when he became the head of the family,” Derek corrected him. “So no, Stiles, I wouldn’t kill them. I wouldn’t be in the position to want to kill them in the first place. I wouldn’t ... I wouldn’t keep the things I love where they could get harmed.”

Stiles remained silent, his fingers softly digging into Derek’s chest, as if he wanted to keep him from disappearing. “Can you stay? Peter wouldn’t mind, right? He trusts you.”

Derek hesitated in answering, turning his body into Stiles’ as he let him burrow under his chin. “I’ll stay,” he finally stated. It wasn’t for Peter. It wasn’t even for Stiles. It was for himself, and Derek knew that. He didn’t want to leave Stiles alone, and that was probably what Derek should have realized was going to be the biggest problem for him.

~*~

The agents were in a frenzy when the Argent-Hale war began. Peter spent less time at the Red Wolf, and more time planning the next attack. Derek was left in charge of the Red Wolf—in looking after Stiles. It provided Derek with the perfect cover to be in Peter’s office, giving him access to his schedule and meetings.

It also provided Stiles with the perfect cover to be closer to Derek—to be in Peter’s office alone with him.

That was how Stiles had caught Derek off guard one night.

“It’s my birthday,” Stiles announced as he pushed the door shut behind him. He smirked when Derek arched a questioning brow at him when he flipped the lock.

“Congratulations on being twenty,” Derek curtly answered as he turned his attention back to the files in front of him. He easily closed them before Stiles rounded the desk.

Stiles slid across the edge of the desk, leaning back against it as he came to settle against Derek. “Going through files?”

Derek ignored him as he pulled the desk’s drawer out, forcing Stiles to move with it.

“You could be nice, it is my birthday,” Stiles commented with a small huff of annoyance.

“You’re supposed to be dancing,” Derek replied, making the mistake of looking at Stiles. Stiles was a lot closer than he thought, their noses almost brushing against each other.

“I’m on break,” Stiles casually answered.

“Whatever you’re playing, forget it,” Derek coldly stated, grabbing Stiles’ arm and forcing him to stumble towards the door some.

Stiles turned around, a small glare of determination covering his features. “That wasn’t nice,” he stated with his hands on his hips. “I came in here to have a little fun.”

“I think you meant to put me in harm’s way,” Derek stated as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re not afraid of him,” Stiles calmly stated, knowing that Derek understood why he had come into the office in the first place. He moved forward, reaching his hands out to run along the clothed contours of Derek’s stomach.

“And I’m not stupid,” Derek answered, forcefully pushing Stiles’ hands from his body.

“Then shut up and enjoy it,” Stiles replied, shoving Derek backwards, forcing him to hit the edge of Peter’s desk. “I have twenty minutes,” he stated, hands running along Derek’s belt, his nimble fingers easily unbuckling the leather.

Derek could push him away. He could walk out of the room. He could even tell Peter that his little trophy was trying to find a new home—a new mantle to sit on. But Derek couldn’t deny that he wanted it. He wanted Stiles more than he ever wanted anything. He didn’t want just a night. He wanted more.

A slight look of surprise flashed over Stiles’ features when he slipped his hand into Derek’s unfastened trousers. “So you are interested,” he stated with an amused smile.

Derek refused to answer, clenching his jaw as he tried not to focus on the way Stiles moved his hand up and down his shaft.

“Please,” Stiles started, leaning in to place a kiss in the corner of Derek’s mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to be the one. How embarrassed I felt prepping myself in the dressing room,” he released a small huff of laughter. “I promise to be good,” he playfully whispered against Derek’s lips.

Something suddenly changed in Stiles’ demeanor when he saw how unchanged Derek’s features were, despite Stiles’ best attempts to get him in the mood. He ducked his head, shamefully slipping his hand out of Derek’s clothes. “Jesus,” he cursed as he pulled his body away from Derek’s, guilt covering his movements. “I’m an idiot—I’m sorry,” he uttered as he started to leave.

Derek knew he should let Stiles leave. He knew that he should allow the kid to keep thinking he hated him—that he wasn’t interested in the slightest. But the way Stiles’ eyes sparkled with hope when he looked at him; the way Stiles watched Derek as if he was the entertainment for the night. It was the way Stiles pushed into his touch, giving back what he got.

Derek knew he’d regret it later. But that didn’t stop him from quickly taking the necessary steps to grasp Stiles’ arm, spinning him around to face him.

Stiles looked surprised, eyes wide and innocent as he stared at Derek, letting him crowd into his space. He let Derek pin him up against the door. His bottom lip trembled as he moved to say something. He released a whimpering moan when Derek’s lips captured his own, his body pliant and willing against Derek’s.

It was a storm. It started out passionately—biting, clawing. It was raw emotion struggling with the need to just feel _something_. But they both knew they were so fucked. Even if they stopped here, they both knew that if Peter found out, there would be hell to pay. They knew what they are doing was risking their lives—but fuck, it was so worth it.

It was all a flurry of hands and desperate need to just feel one another—to feel bare skin. For Stiles to finally run his hands through the dusting of hair across Derek's chest as Derek’s shirt hung open—to bury his hands in the hair at the base of his neck. To finally feel someone else’s hands on his body that were, for once, welcomed.

It was all too much, yet not enough.

That was when it all slowed down. When Derek and Stiles pulled apart, Stiles’ low riding shorts gone along with Derek’s jacket, both being lost in the frenzy as Derek carried Stiles back to Peter’s desk. And they just stared at each other, mouths barely touching as they lingered near each other, the feeling of the other’s breath was warm and welcomed.

And it was nothing like Stiles imagined sex to be. Stiles always thought that he’d have to be with Peter like this. He always thought it would be rough and cruel, no focus on his feelings whatsoever as Peter took what he wanted.

But Derek was different.

It was gentle and tender. It was Derek setting a sure but gentle rhythm for them to move to. It was Stiles wrapping his legs around Derek because he knew this was it. He knew that he couldn't have Derek after this—once they both came back to their senses, they’d have to pretend that it never happened.

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s shoulders for purchase, wanton moans falling from his lips as he canted his hips to meet Derek’s thrusts in earnest. His voice was angelic as he softly cooed Derek’s name.

Derek was always silent during sex, it was just his initial response to be too focused on his partner to even think about himself. But the way Stiles wrapped around him—the way he called his name like he was God made him lose his composure. He allowed himself to vocalize his own pleasure, small moans panting from his mouth as Stiles’ hands ran along his chest, Stiles’ lips pressing kisses along his throat.

It was nothing like Derek imagined.

It was Derek pressing his face into the hollow of Stiles throat, careful not to give in and actually nip at the soft skin there. It was Derek feeling as responsible as his uncle for taking advantage of Stiles. It hurt to think that he was causing more pain, that he was hurting Stiles more than Peter ever did. He was giving himself a glimpse of something he knew he could never have—that both of them could never have.

Despite it all, it was perfect.

Stiles shook through his orgasm, nails biting into Derek’s arms as he fought for purchase against the repeated onslaught of Derek hitting his prostate with precision. He moaned into Derek’s kiss, his whole body weak from the strain. He smiled through his panting when Derek’s hips stilled, watching as his eyes clamped shut and his body rocked through it.

Stiles kissed Derek through it, placing delicate kisses to his forehead and cheeks. He didn’t even bother to startle when a knock on the door came—he couldn’t bother to be afraid of it, not when Derek was calm and firm against him.

“What?” Derek finally spoke to the knocker, a steady hand gripping Stiles’ hip.

“Stiles is on in a few,” Erica’s voice cut through the door, like ice water running down Derek’s back.

It made him realize that this—their mistake—wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to give in.

Something in Derek’s demeanor changed. He coldly pulled away from Stiles, immediately fixing his trousers once he threw away the condom.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, catching Derek’s icy attitude as he tossed Stiles’ shorts at him. He quickly slipped them on, not wanting to have whatever conversation they might have while he was still naked and feeling vulnerable.

“Derek—”

“You better get out there,” Derek curtly stated as he fixed his shirt, giving an aggravated sigh when he noticed that he was missing a few buttons.

“Yeah, right,” Stiles answered, slipping off the desk. He picked up one of the bar towels, hastily wiping himself down enough to make sure he could at least make it to the bathroom without drawing any knowing looks.

“This isn’t going to happen again,” Derek stated.

Stiles scoffed. He nodded his head to himself, angrily throwing the bar towel at Derek. “You’re _just_ like your uncle,” he viciously snapped as he hurried out of the office.

Derek didn’t disagree with him.

~*~

Peter had thrown a party for Stiles’ birthday.

Stiles looked gorgeous in his dark suit and red shirt—one of the outfits Peter liked him in most.

Since that night at Red Wolf, Stiles actively pushed into Peter’s arms more than before, and everyone started to notice it. Derek had noticed it more than anyone else, and he knew he was supposed to be the one to notice.

Derek knew when he saw Stiles let Peter kiss him on the lips for the first time. Stiles was gripping the lapels of Peter’s suit tightly, angling his head how Peter wanted him to. Peter was the one to pull back and greet Derek, his arms still wrapped around Stiles’ waist. Stiles briefly looked at Derek before looking away, shame crossing his features.

Stiles let Peter rest his hand on his hip as everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Stiles. As he looked around the room, his smile only faltered when he saw Derek standing off to the side. He kept his gaze on Derek as Peter pulled him in against his chest, pressing a kiss into his hair before he whispered in his ear.

Stiles seemed to ignore whatever it was Peter said, leaning down to blow out the candles on his cake. He smiled when everyone clapped. He leaned back into Peter when the arm around his waist tightened. He knew that he was tempting a shark with every approving gesture that he gave Peter. He knew that he was still playing the dangerous game Peter so desperately wanted to win. But he wanted to see Derek’s reaction. He wanted to see that anger burning in Derek’s eyes as he was forced to watch it happen.

Peter excused himself from the party to make a few calls. That was when Derek made his move to pull Stiles aside, into the seclusion of the bathroom.

Stiles didn’t make a noise, knowing it was Derek. He defiantly glared at Derek as he left him flushed against the door. He knew that despite Derek’s best attempts to appear in control, he was far from being overpowering, even with his arms caging Stiles in.

But Derek looked the part. He looked angry—downright pissed off—and for the first time ever Stiles could see the familial resemblance between Derek and Peter.

“There’s a point to which he’ll let you dance out of his grasp. After that, he’ll just take,” Derek gruffly stated, waiting for Stiles to admit his mistake— _their_ mistake in giving into their mutual desire.

“How dare you try and tell me to be careful,” Stiles angrily snapped. He was furious with Derek for uttering those words—how dare he think Stiles needed someone to save him from all this. He has been living in this world for the past two years, and everything he’s done has been an investment. “At least he knows what he wants and goes after it.”

“You want me to start a war—for you?” Derek asked with derision in his voice.

“I want to know I have protection after I kill him,” Stiles firmly stated.

“You really want to kill him,” Derek stated, understanding dawning in his voice.

“I’m _going_ to kill him,” Stiles stated. “Being forced to spend my birthday with him? It’s not just a reminder of what he took from me—it’s motivation.”

“I can’t let you kill Peter,” Derek replied.

“What, are you going to tell him that I want to kill him? Go ahead,” Stiles spitefully dared him. “Go ahead and tell him. I’m sure he’ll laugh in your face. He _knows_ I want to kill him.”

“He should go to prison,” Derek corrected Stiles.

Stiles’ glare softened some. “Prison’s too good for him,” he uttered.

“Unfortunately, murder is illegal,” Derek stated, leaning back some as he let his hands fall from the door.

“I want to be free,” Stiles suddenly confessed. “I want to be able to walk away from him.” He looked up at Derek.

“A little bit longer and you might be able to,” Derek replied, knowing that he shouldn’t say anything else.

Stiles moved from the door when Derek reached for the handle. “Are you going to kill him?” His voice sounded hopeful, as if Derek’s answered would decide whether his life was worth continuing.

Derek paused, looking into the bathroom’s mirror. He caught the look in Stiles’ eyes that made him feel like he could kill Peter and get away with it. He knew he lost sight of what he was meant to be doing the minute he saw those big amber eyes. Part of him wondered that if he had stayed part of the family, maybe Laura would have been able to dismantle it all. He wondered if he would have become the head instead of Peter. He wondered if he could have stopped Peter from destroying Stiles’ life, if he had just stayed. “I’m going to put an end to him,” he finally uttered, hoping it was enough to get Stiles to back off of Peter. He only hoped that Stiles would protect himself for a little while longer.

~*~

Derek knew it was going to blow up in everyone’s faces. He knew Peter was going to snap at someone. He didn’t know that that someone was going to be Stiles.

Stiles had done his best to pull away from Peter, allowing him to take a kiss here or there, but not lingering any longer than he had to. He was relaxing at the bar when it happened.

Derek saw the look in Stiles’ eye when Deucalion’s hand slipped a little too far up Stiles’ thigh. He moved to stop Stiles, reaching him too late.

Stiles had picked up Deucalion’s drink, throwing the alcohol into his face before slamming the glass down onto the bar. He moved to march back towards his dance table, the one area that people didn’t touch him when he was in the club. He was halted when Peter snatched his bicep, yanking him almost off balance with the force on his grip.

Peter marched Stiles towards the backrooms, towards his office as Ennis saw to Deucalion. Peter’s gait was faster than Stiles anticipated, prompting Stiles to stumble some in an attempt to keep up with Peter.

Derek made his way after his uncle, knowing that whatever happened wasn’t going to end well. He put his hand up to halt Erica and Boyd from following him, getting them to keep their place at the bar in case something happened there. He was able to slip into his uncle’s office just as Peter harshly shoved Stiles onto the couch.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Peter demanded as he turned to pace some.

“I stopped a creep from molesting me,” Stiles snapped back.

“He’s not one of the patrons that come in here looking to watch you dance!” Peter yelled. “You’re meant to be pleasing to the eye—”

“The last thing he had on his mind was watching me shake my ass for him!” Stiles angrily stated as he started to stand.

“Sit down!” Peter’s voice roared loudly over any protests Stiles started to get out.

Stiles slowly sunk back down into the couch in complete silence, knowing that he couldn’t push any of Peter’s limits—not when he was this angry.

Derek carefully watched his uncle, a small curiosity itching at his brain as he waited for the worst to happen.

“I think I spoil you a little _too_ much,” Peter lowly stated to himself.

Stiles kept silent as he watched Peter, almost too afraid to look away. His eyes momentarily flickered to Derek, wondering if he knew anything—if he knew what Peter knew. In the past, when he rebuked other people’s advances, Peter had always allowed him to deal with it, no matter how crass he was. But tonight Peter seemed even angrier—as if something else was riling him up. Stiles could only hope that Peter didn’t know about them—that maybe it was just the added frustrations of Stiles suddenly rebuking his every advance.

“Derek,” Peter calmly stated his nephew’s name as he calmly turned to look at him. “I’d like you to take Scott out for a drive,” he started.

Stiles’ eyes widened at the mention of his best friend’s name.

Derek’s stomach knotted, knowing what Peter wanted him to do. It was an order Derek had followed out before as part of the family—an order he was never proud of completing.

“Take him out for a drive, but come back alone,” Peter stated. It was a hit order without Peter actually saying it was. It was Peter punishing Stiles by using Derek. It was Peter testing Derek’s loyalties. It was Peter being Peter—pure rage and vindictive jealousy clouding his thoughts. He wanted Stiles back under his heel where he thought he belonged.

“No,” Stiles weakly protested as he started to stand. His fear prompted him to speak—he was unable to keep silent when Peter just ordered Scott’s death.

“Consider it done,” Derek stated, knowing he didn’t have a choice but to accept.

“No!” Stiles yelled at Derek.

For the first time, Stiles looked his age. He looked scared, completely unknowing in how to handle the situation.

Stiles turned to Peter, quickly grabbing his arm when he noticed that Derek was preparing to leave. He knew Peter was the only one who could change the order. “Peter, please, please don’t do this,” he quickly sobbed, panic and fear overriding his pride. “I’m begging you, please don’t do this. He’s my best friend. Please!” He partially stumbled, falling to his knees as he clutched handfuls of Peter’s clothes, pulling on the material in an attempt to physical sway him. “Please, I’ll do anything— I’ll apologize to Deucalion! I’ll do whatever you want! Just please don’t do this, Peter! Please!”

Something in Peter’s eyes softened as he looked down at Stiles. He reached a hand down, fingertips the gentlest they’ve ever been when caressing Stiles’ skin. He brushed his fingers through Stiles’ hair before suddenly tightening them around the silky locks to crane Stiles’ neck until his face was forced to look up at him.

That was the real Peter—the Peter Stiles so rarely saw directed at him. There were countless times Stiles saw Peter show his true nature, but never towards him.

Peter leaned down, running his thumb across Stiles lips before his hand settled under his chin. He pressed his lips against Stiles’, ripping another kiss from him, just like the other ones he stole. This one was harsher—cruel in nature—as Peter took what he wanted.

Stiles couldn’t move, even if he wanted to. He released a small whimper that turned into a sob when Peter tightened his grip in his hair, yanking them apart. He couldn’t stop the tears as he looked up at Peter with pleading eyes— _hope_ that Peter would take the hit back.

Peter easily brushed the tears away with the back of his fingers. “You need to learn that just because you apologize, doesn’t mean you get what you want, Stiles,” he calmly said. “Next time, it will be your father.” He dropped his hold on Stiles, easily allowing him to crumple onto the floor.

“No,” Stiles weakly protested, his eyes landing on Derek.

Derek refused to look at Stiles.

Ennis knocked on the door before entering, completely unaffected by the scene before him. “Deucalion wants to talk, sir.”

Peter nodded. “Get him out of here,” he stated as he gestured towards Stiles. “He’s supposed to be dancing.”

Stiles didn’t fight when Ennis hauled him to his feet, pushing him out towards the door. He tried to keep the tears back as he passed Derek. He didn’t think he could hate the Hales any more than he already did—he was wrong. He hated Derek for making him think he could have a life that Peter didn’t control. He hated the hollow feeling he suddenly felt in his chest again.

The music was deafening as Stiles forced himself to move across his dance table—to dance just like Peter demanded. Of course Peter would make him dance while his best friend was being executed. Peter wanted Stiles to remember exactly where he was when Scott died—what he was doing and whom he belonged to.

Stiles tried to keep his head down, trying to ignore the looks he received from any customers that got too close to him. He didn’t realize that he was crying until he registered the wetness of his cheeks. He didn’t realize he could cry more until he saw Derek walking back into the club, giving Peter an affirming nod.

Stiles wanted to get off of the dance table. He wanted to run outside. He wanted to get away from the Hales. He wanted to escape his life.

Instead, Stiles kept dancing. He continued to move his hips, lifting his arms up as he attempted to keep his face hidden from onlookers. He thought about Peter’s game, and what it was worth. He knew he’d never walk away, either way. But the promise of Peter’s blood on his hands made that reality much more bearable.

~*~

Stiles kept to himself. He danced when told to. He silently sat beside Peter when he was beckoned.

Peter no longer allowed Stiles to stay during meetings, always sending him home. It was Derek who was assigned to watching Stiles. He had to drive him to and from the club. And if Stiles wanted to go somewhere, Peter had to give Derek permission to take him there first.

Stiles had been put under house arrest because Peter was scorned.

That was why Derek was standing outside the hospital room Stiles’ father was in. Stiles was lingering beside Derek, staring through the glass at his father.

“This is the first time Peter has let me see him,” Stiles finally confessed, breaking the silence between them.

Derek turned to look at Stiles’ father. He caught sight of the machines beeping in the necessary rhythm to keep his vitals going. Something felt off to him about everything. He turned his attention back to the hospital’s hallway.

“Another gift?” Derek finally answered Stiles.

“Or a chance to say goodbye,” Stiles solemnly replied. “At least I get to say goodbye to him unlike Scott,” he quickly added before he slipped into the room.

Derek carefully watched the doctors and nurses busily walking around the stations. He caught sight of one of the doctors, something itching at the back of his brain. He recognized the man, but he wasn’t sure where from—until he caught sight of his name embroidered on his lab coat.

Derek immediately slipped into the room, ignoring Stiles’ sudden rigidness as he snapped to attention. He picked up Mr. Stilinski’s file, flipping through it until he saw the name of his attending physician.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles demanded when Derek didn’t make a move to say anything.

“It’s been six years,” Derek stated as he finally looked at Stiles. “Six years, and you’ve never been allowed to visit him. Why?”

Stiles remained silent, his eyebrows furrowing. “My foster parents didn’t want to bring me.”

“Didn’t want to or were paid not to?” Derek asked as he deposited the file back into the holder at the end of the bed.

“What the hell are you getting at?” Stiles demanded. “I wouldn’t put it past Peter to pay them off. That doesn’t change the fact that my dad is comatose in a hospital bed!” He snapped as he gestured towards his father.

“He’s not in a coma,” Derek stated as he opened his phone, quickly texting something.

“What?” Stiles incredulously asked.

“Doctor Adrian Harris, ring a bell?” Derek started to explain. “He’s your father’s attending physician. He’s also on Peter’s payroll—he was on the family payroll from before I was an enforcer for Laura.”

“You think he has my dad in a forced medical coma,” Stiles asked in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Derek asked as he looked at Stiles.

“Maybe because I don’t trust you,” Stiles snapped. “Why should I? It makes no sense why Peter would bother keeping my father in a coma.”

“Why do you think Peter has him in a secluded part of the hospital? Why his name isn’t on the door despite him being here for _years_?”

Stiles’ eyes traveled over to the door, looking as if he was willing to buy into what Derek was saying.

“Why does your father have muscle contours and conditioning that looks like a healthy man who is used to walking around?” Derek finished.

Stiles was staring at his dad in disbelief. “That’s impossible,” he weakly uttered.

“Peter’s as sadist,” Derek sighed. “You really think he wouldn’t plan this out to be more than a year-long investment? You think it’s above Peter to play with his food before he eats it?”

“What’s the point?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking some as he stared at his dad.

“To flaunt in front of the man that almost put him away everything that he did to his son,” Derek replied, looking at his phone when it buzzed. “To let you say goodbye to your father before he puts a bullet in his head himself.”

“Why should I believe you?” Stiles asked as he stared at his father.

“Stiles—”

“You’re just as bad as Peter,” Stiles faintly whispered. “You killed Scott. You made me believe that I could rely on you.” He released a huff of bitter laughter. “I’m so stupid. I should have figured out by now that I can’t trust anyone. Especially a Hale, huh?” He turned to look at Derek.

“I’ll tell Peter I don’t want to babysit you anymore if that will make you happy,” Derek answered, not knowing that Stiles wanted to hear.

“Happy,” Stiles spoke the word with venom in his voice. “You think this is about me being _happy_?”

“What do you want me to tell him, Stiles?” Derek tiredly asked. He knew it wasn’t Stiles’ fault—it was more his own fault than anyone else’s. He let himself fall for Stiles. He let himself get tangled up in the family business—in thinking he could have what he wanted.

“Maybe I’ll talk to him myself,” Stiles finally uttered, releasing his father’s hand and moving to march by Derek.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Derek started, as he turned to follow Stiles.

“ _Maybe_ I should tell him that I let you _fuck_ me,” Stiles suddenly threatened as he turned around to push into Derek space, a sadistic smile replacing his melancholy look. “How I let you open me up and fuck me like he's been dreaming of doing. How I moaned like a little _whore_ for you.” It was almost as if Stiles was happy to see the way his words made Derek uncomfortable. “ _Maybe_ I should let us both burn, huh? Because in the end, that’s the only way either of us are going to get away from him.”

Derek was about to respond when there was a knock on the door before it opened.

Both of them took a step away from each other as they looked up to see none other than Ennis.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked.

“Peter wants to see you,” Ennis stated, not bothering to give him an explanation besides that. “Both of you.”

Derek should have known that his gut was right—coming back was a big mistake.

~*~

The Red Wolf looked strange during the daytime. It was completely empty, normal light illuminating the black walls. There were no other members of the family present as Stiles walked in before Derek—Derek wanted to make sure that Ennis was behind him and not Stiles.

Derek halted when he heard the cocking of a gun. He closed his eyes when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed up against his head.

“Ennis, what the hell are you doing?” Stiles demanded, having turned around when he heard the gun.

“Why don’t you tell him, Derek?” Peter’s voice came from his spot in the VIP lounge. It was easy to hear Peter in the vast open area.

“Peter, what’s happening?” Stiles dared to ask, unsure if Peter had somehow found it all out—he had eyes and ears everywhere.

“He’s a fed,” Ennis finally stated. “Isn’t that right, Derek?”

Derek opened his eyes to look at Peter.

Peter had stood up, taking his time to walk over to them. “My own flesh and blood.”

“He tried to get close to me,” Stiles softly commented. There was a look of disbelief on Stiles’ face, as if he had considered every angle possible besides this one.

Peter came to stand beside Stiles, keeping a careful eye on him as he evaluated his next move.

“Peter, I didn’t … I didn’t know,” Stiles started as he looked at Peter.

Peter remained silent, reaching a hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek. A few moments passed before he finally nodded. “I believe you.”

“You knew I had graduated from Quantico,” Derek commented, surprisingly calm under the pressure of the gun’s barrel pressed against his cerebellum. He had to be calm if he wanted to steer Peter’s suspicions from Stiles entirely.

“I knew you graduated, I didn’t know you wanted to ruin what was left of your family. Especially after Kate,” Peter stated in a tut-tut tone.

“Maybe Kate was right,” Derek grunted when Ennis pushed the barrel against his head more. “Maybe none of us deserve to keep living.”

Peter drew his own gun, pointing it directly at Derek. “In that case, I won’t lose a moment’s rest by putting a bullet in your head.”

“Peter,” Stiles softly called his name, his hand moving to rest on Peter’s chest.

Derek saw the determination in Peter’s eyes waver when he looked at Stiles.

“If he is a fed, then they know how deep into this he is,” Stiles explained. “If he … if he goes missing, they’ll know you had something to do with it. They’ll start an investigation. And this,” he looked around the Red Wolf—the place that had become his home over the years. “Everything will disappear.”

“And you don’t want that,” Peter stated in a quizzical tone, his eyes evaluating Stiles. His grip on the gun started to ease some under Stiles’ gaze.

“I’m tired,” Stiles confessed, tears in his eyes as he tightened his grip on Peter’s shirt. “I’m just so tired of …” He ducked his chin, shaking his head as a few tears fell. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

Peter pressed a finger under Stiles’ chin, forcing him to look up at him.

“Can’t we go back to … Can’t we just go back to when it was simpler? Just us,” Stiles softly spoke, his voice hopeful. “I’m done playing. I …” His bottom lip trembled as he tried to speak. “I’m ready to give in.”

Peter stared at Stiles in complete wonderment. A look of disbelief flickered across his features before content replaced it. His fingers lightly caressed against Stiles’ skin, following the curve of his cheek. A small smile tugged at his lips when Stiles pressed into his touch.

“Stiles, don’t give in to him,” Derek found himself quickly uttering. “He’s lying about—”

“You’re the liar!” Stiles snapped as he turned his head to look at Derek through blurry tears. “You’re the one that tried to ruin your family—you’re the one who tried—” He tried to move forward, only to have Peter’s arm pull him back.

“Calm down,” Peter softly stated, whispering soothing words against Stiles hair until he pushed back into Peter.

“Just send him away,” Stiles pleaded as he turned his head into the hollow of Peter’s throat.

Peter lowered his weapon, easily holstering it. “Drop him off at his hotel.”

Ennis grabbed Derek’s arm, pulling him back towards the door, his gun still fixed on him.

“And Derek,” Peter called after him, causing Ennis to pause, allowing Derek to see the scene before him.

Stiles was pressed against Peter’s side, his own arm wrapped around Peter’s waist to get as close to him as possible. His head was resting against Peter’s shoulder, his eyes avoiding Derek’s at all cost.

“I suggest you don’t come back,” Peter stated. “Next time, even Stiles won’t be able to convince me of mercy.”

A small snort came from Stiles as he finally looked up at Peter. It sounded like a mix between incredulity and scorn.

Ennis started to pull Derek back out through the door, but Derek could still see Peter and Stiles. His blood ran cold like ice when he saw Stiles kiss Peter.

Derek had seen Stiles kiss Peter before, every time it was evident that he hated every second of it. This time, however, Stiles pressed into Peter’s touch, letting Peter take what he wanted, unlike before. Stiles’ eyes were clamped shut as he ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, tilting his head to the side to give Peter better access to his mouth. It was how Stiles had kissed Derek that night in Peter’s office.

Derek struggled to stay within sight of Stiles as Ennis marched him outside. Through the revolving doors of the club, Derek caught sight of Stiles’ eyes flickering open briefly, looking right at him. There was a longing sadness there that Derek recognized. It was the same look Stiles had given Derek the night he asked him if he’d kill Peter.

Derek realized that Stiles wasn’t _giving in_ to Peter—he was giving up. He was giving up the hope of having a life once Peter was dead. Instead of burning with Derek, he chose to burn Peter with him.

~*~

“You look like shit,” Erica stated as she lifted the compress from Derek’s eye—the eye Ennis had punched.

“Thanks,” Derek dryly stated. “You three shouldn’t be here,” he stated once more, eyes flickering between Erica, Isaac, and Boyd.

“You saved Scott’s life,” Isaac stated.

“And ours,” Boyd rolled his eyes at Isaac.

“That too,” Isaac added.

“Don’t be mad at him, he’s just glad his boyfriend’s alive,” Erica commented with a smile when Isaac blushed.

“Which means we want to make sure your boyfriend survives,” Boyd answered in turn.

Derek opened his eyes to look at Boyd.

“We all know you have a thing for Stiles,” Boyd stated with a shrug.

“And Stiles stares at your ass like it’s a gift from heaven,” Erica replied, putting her hands on her hips as she looked down at Derek.

“You know what Peter is going to do to him,” Isaac finally chimed in. “After he dances tonight, he’s going to—”

“Isaac!” Erica snapped as she whipped her head around to look at him. “We all know. You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” Isaac sheepishly stated.

“What about the FBI?” Boyd asked.

“They won’t become involved until they know they can arrest Peter on sound charges,” Derek stated in a tired voice, having had that argument with them before. “Besides, Stiles is going to kill Peter.”

“He’d never be able to …” Erica’s eyes widened with understanding. “A suicide mission.”

“As long as Peter’s dead, he doesn’t care,” Derek partially choked out, finally rising from the couch.

“Isaac, I want you to go to the hospital and keep and eye on his dad,” Derek started. “If Peter thinks Stiles is finally giving into him, he might give the order to have Harris kill him while he’s still in the coma.”

“Still in the coma?” Isaac questioned. “You make it sound like—”

“I’m pretty sure Peter’s keeping a rouse up to tighten Stiles’ leash,” Derek explained.

“Jesus Christ,” Boyd muttered as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Peter would go to any lengths for this to work, huh?”

“Peter’s a child,” Derek explained as he started to pull on his coat. “He doesn’t like to think he’s going to lose his favorite toy.”

“But he likes to break them,” Erica sadly commented as she stood up. “Where do you want Boyd and I?”

“I want you with me,” Derek stated. “I need you to make sure it’s a clear shot for me to get to Stiles.”

“Derek, isn’t this going to mess up the feds’ investigation?” Erica asked.

Derek didn’t answer as he checked his gun. “They want him alive. I might not leave him that way.”

Erica looked at Boyd, gaging his feelings towards it before she looked back at Derek. She nodded, understanding that this was where it all came to a crashing end.

“Just promise me you’ll get Stiles out,” Derek stated.

“We’ll get him out,” Boyd replied.

~*~

Derek waited outside the Red Wolf, lingering among the crowd to stay hidden. His eyes carefully scanned the different enforcers Peter had manning the ropes. It was Peter’s way of guaranteeing that neither Derek nor the FBI would be able to interrupt his dealings.

Derek knew that Peter was one for dramatic flare. He knew that tonight was going to be the night that everything happened. Tonight was the night Peter’s deal with Deucalion would be completed. Tonight was the night Peter would take Stiles to bed. Tonight was the night Peter Hale planned on getting everything he wanted.

Derek tried to think about the man his uncle once was. He thought about the man who helped him with his homework when he was still awake at midnight, struggling to finish the last problem. He thought about the man that smiled and laughed with his whole body—the man that looked at his family with nothing but love. He thought about the man that had died the night of the fire that took almost everything from them both.

It made the weight of the gun holstered under his arm easier to bear.

Derek spotted Erica and Boyd strutting up to the entrance, Erica’s eyes catching Derek’s before they both ducked into the club. He kept his head down, allowing the tipsy brunette next to him to push into him, pressing her arms underneath his leather jacket. He acted just as drunk as she was, pressing his face into her neck when they passed directly by Ennis.

Derek let the brunette slip from under his arm, easily maneuvering through the crowded club. He immediately noticed that Stiles wasn’t on his dance table. He scanned the crowd as best he could, finally catching a glimpse of Stiles sitting in the VIP lounge.

Stiles was in a black suit, a crimson shirt visible beneath his unbuttoned jacket. He ran his fingers along the lip of his glass, his eyes focused on the way the ice cubes clicked together in the amber liquid. He tore his eyes away from his drink when a few people entered the small lounge area. He started to stand, greeting Peter with a kiss when Peter wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist. He turned to Deucalion and his men, offering a faint nod.

Peter leaned in close to Stiles, whispering something in his ear with a smile curling his lips. He looked satisfied by Stiles nod of acknowledgement, allowing him to slip from his grasp and head to the bar.

Derek carefully moved through the crowd, heading to meet Stiles before he reached the bar. He dared to look at where Peter was still in the lounge, catching how he was too busy speaking with Deucalion to keep an eye on Stiles. He let Stiles reach the bar before he moved to gently run his hand along Stiles’ arm to gain his attention. He noticed how Stiles immediately stiffened under the action.

“Peter, I’m just getting—” Stiles started, his voice cutting off the minute he saw Derek. His eyes widened as he parted his lips to speak. Nothing came out as he stared at Derek.

“I’m not Peter,” Derek playfully answered over the music.

“Derek,” Stiles quickly started, his eyes dashing across the crowd. “Derek, what are you doing back? You can’t be here.”

“I’m getting you out of here,” Derek simply answered. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“You have to,” Stiles stated. “You have to leave, Derek. If Peter sees you—”

“I’ll kill him,” Derek firmly answered.

Stiles stared at Derek in wonderment.

Derek took a step closer, crowding into Stiles’ space. He allowed a faint smile to grace his lips, reaching his hand up to softly ghost his fingertips through the small stray strands of Stiles’ hair that laid limp against his forehead. “I meant what I said.”

Stiles’ eyes carefully watched Derek’s movements before they flickered over Derek’s shoulder to watch for Peter. “Derek, please. I’m begging you, leave before Peter does something.”

Derek leaned closer, close enough for just Stiles to hear him. “I want you to be able to walk away from him, Stiles. I’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.”

Stiles stared at Derek, his eyes filled with tears as he gently shook his head. “You’re a fool,” he whispered, his voice lost amongst the music. He pulled out of Derek’s hold, fear and sadness overtaking his features.

That was when Derek felt the gun pressed against his back, a warm hand snatching his arm to hold him close, concealing the weapon between the two of them.

“I thought I told you, nephew,” Peter spoke close to Derek’s ear. “That even Stiles couldn’t save you if you came back here.”

Derek kept looking at Stiles. “I couldn’t let you have him,” he firmly stated in defiance.

Peter laughed in response. “You want him, don’t you?” There was a mockery in his voice as he harshly pressed the gun against the small of Derek’s back. “That’s what so perfect about Stiles. A constant tease. Well, after tonight he won’t be.”

“He’s no one’s to control, Peter,” Derek snapped back.

“He’s always been _mine_ , Derek. It just took him a while to see that.”

Stiles made a move to touch Peter’s arm, his hand steady despite the fear in his eyes. “Peter, give him to Ennis to handle.”

Peter turned his attention towards Stiles, and Derek knew that Peter didn’t want to give his death to Ennis—Peter would want to kill Derek himself.

Derek knew that Stiles would have to sweeten the deal for Peter.

“Give him to Ennis and come with me back to the office,” Stiles stated, running his hand down Peter’s arm.

Peter’s grip on Derek lightened, the gun pulling away from Derek’s body.

Stiles moved forward, pressing his body against Peter’s in just the right way as he ran his free hand along Peter’s belt. “He wants me but can’t have me,” Stiles’ voice was low and husky as he almost moved to kiss Peter. “You can have me.”

Derek felt another grip on him, knowing it was Ennis. He allowed Ennis to pull him away from Peter and Stiles. A spark of rage lit in his gut as Peter grabbed Stiles, pulling him close to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

It was a statement that Peter made because of his own vindictive pride. Peter held Stiles against his body, his tongue opening Stiles up and taking. It was a punishment for Derek as much as it was for Stiles for catching Derek’s attention. Peter was claiming Stiles as his.

Stiles released a faint whimper when Peter bit down on his lip as he pulled away. His hands were pressed flat against Peter’s chest, a small attempt to keep Peter at bay a little while longer.

“Take Derek outback,” Peter instructed as he kept his eyes on Stiles. “We’ll be in my office. I expect to hear he’s taken care of when we’re done.”

Derek didn’t bother to struggle against Ennis, knowing that making a scene was pointless. He caught the way Stiles looked back at him, despite Peter pulling on his hand, leading him back towards his office.

Derek allowed Ennis to march him out to the alley. He kept his hands up as he marched forward at Ennis’ command. He refused to kneel when Ennis commanded him to. He quickly turned when he heard the scuffling, a small satisfaction falling over him when he saw Erica standing over an unconscious Ennis.

“Come on, we have to go,” Erica quickly uttered as she gestured towards the end of the alley that lead back to the street.

“What about Stiles?” Derek questioned.

“Boyd tipped off the feds with the number you gave us. They arrested Harris and Isaac is keeping his dad safe. You’ve done all you can. You need to leave before the feds show up and all hell breaks loose,” Erica protested, grabbing Derek’s arm when he moved to enter the Red Wolf once more.

“He’s in there with Peter, Erica,” Derek snapped. “Stiles is going to be _raped_! Do you understand that?!”

“He’s going to put a bullet in Peter’s head,” Erica argued. “Why do you think he brought him back to Peter’s office? It’s soundproof in there. He’s going to put that animal down like he always wanted to!”

“I can’t let him,” Derek replied, slipping out of Erica’s hold to rush back inside. He shoved his way through the crowd, not caring who saw him as he made his way towards Peter’s office.

~*~

It was a storm. It started out passionately—clawing, a mash of bodies and limbs. It was raw emotion. It was all a flurry of hands and desperate need. It was all too much, yet not enough.

When the scuffle finally broke apart, Stiles had come out victorious.

Stiles’ cheeks were tearstained, his jacket shed and his shirt unbuttoned as it hung from his body. He was holding Peter’s gun in his grip, his arm shaking as he pointed the gun at Peter.

“I don’t belong to you,” Stiles firmly stated, his whole body trembling.

“Are you going to shoot me, Stiles?” Peter demanded, his voice dark and low, daring Stiles to give him an opportunity to get the gun from him.

“I’ve been waiting more than six years for this,” Stiles stated through his tears.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Stiles,” Peter answered, taking a steady step closer to Stiles with every word.

“Oh, I’m not?” Stiles snapped, pulling the hammer back on the gun.

Peter halted when he saw the determination flicker in Stiles’ eyes. “Clever. Very clever of you to do it in here.”

“I like to think it’s more dramatic,” Stiles bit out.

“Killing a mob boss in his office with his own gun would be considered dramatic,” Peter stated in annoyance.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile, his laugh coming out in a soft bubbling. “It’s so much better than that,” he stated. “I let Derek _fuck me_ on your precious desk,” he uttered. “And I loved every _second_ of it.”

Peter’s rage was evident, but for once Stiles didn’t care. The weight of the gun gave him the courage to not care if Peter was angry with him.

“And now Derek’s dead,” Peter snapped.

“That only makes killing you easier,” Stiles answered, a fresh set of tears burning his eyes. “You took everything I ever loved, including him. I think it’s only fair for you to know that you can never have me the way you wanted to.”

“Here is what’s going to happen, Stiles,” Peter started as be moved closer to Stiles, causing the younger man to stumble some in backing up.

“I’m going to shoot you, that’s what is going to happen,” Stiles snapped.

“No. You’re going to put the gun down. And _maybe_ I won’t have to—”

Three consecutive shots rang out, causing Stiles jump at the noise. The gun dropped from Stiles’ hands after he saw Peter fall to the ground, permanently silenced. He looked up to see Derek standing in the office doorway, his handgun poised and still smoking.

Derek looked up at Stiles, finally lowering his gun when he saw just how scared Stiles looked.

Stiles stared at Derek in complete disbelief. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run to Derek and hide away from everything in his embrace.

The sound of the music stopping, screams of the patrons as authoritative voices yelled over the chaos transpiring, broke through the moment.

Derek raised his hands above his head when instructed to. He moved to kneel, placing the gun on the floor beside him. He placed his hands on his head, allowing one of the agents to handcuff him as they read him his Miranda rights.

The entire time, Derek kept his eyes on Stiles.

Derek gladly allowed the agents to lead him away when he heard one of them pronounce Peter dead, another inspecting Stiles to see if he was hurt.

After everything, this was the only way Derek saw it ending. And despite Stiles’ tears, it was a perfect ending to an imperfect life.

In the end, they both walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an epilogue! That is where the happy ending comes in.


	2. Epilogue: Relieve the Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaah. I hope you guys enjoy this. It was a blast to write. This part was a little hard because of all the legality. Remember, suspension of disbelief, people. I am also not a lawyer or judge and have no idea how court trials actually work. I did the best I could with Google, and, as far as I know, the charges that are discussed are accurate.
> 
> Enjoy! <3
> 
>  **Edit/Important** : I read the two comments about Derek being undercover and how that would play through in the trial. That was my fault for not adding in a paragraph that explains what I was thinking/how I planned it. Originally I planned it to be implied that the stuff with the FBI happened prior to the segment of the trial that is shown. Derek's trial would be several days long, and I sped up the sentencing to be the same time as the verdict. 
> 
> I've corrected this absence by adding a little paragraph in. In short, the FBI was displeased with Derek's choice to kill Peter; Derek went against direct orders when told not to go back to the Red Wolf. He was no longer undercover when he killed Peter because his cover had been blown. He went rogue and on a mission of his own.

“Hale,” one of the guards called out across the courtyard to catch Derek’s attention. “You have a visitor.”

Derek nodded in acknowledgment, standing from his spot among the others. He waved Anderson off, letting him know that he was fine to walk across the yard without getting accosted. He ignored the way everyone practically parted in order to avoid getting in his way.

After Derek had easily fought off the group of attackers his first week of imprisonment, killing the boss in what was ruled self-defense, he suddenly owned the prison. It helped that everyone knew who he was—they knew he was the last Hale, inheriting the entirety of the family business. But they also knew he used to be a federal agent. It only made people wary of him.

Derek allowed the guards to cuff him, bringing him through the necessary doors before he caught sight of his visitor.

Stiles was sitting at the table, looking down at his hands as he waited for Derek like the guards had told him to. He looked older, as if the few months that passed had aged him significantly. But he looked at peace—the rigidness in his shoulders was gone, replaced by the easiness of his soft smile.

Stiles looked up when he heard the buzzer for the door opening, the clanking of Derek’s cuffs filling the room. He offered Derek a faint smile, trying to give him some form of comfort.

Derek silently sat on the opposite side of the table, allowing the guard to easily cuff the chain of his cuffs to the table. He looked at the guard—his name was Andrew Montebay. Derek knew he was one of the guards that actually looked out for him, a way of paying Derek back for getting his little brother out of the mob life back when he was an enforcer for Laura. It was nice to know that he made a positive difference in someone’s life.

“Thanks, Andrew,” Derek stated before turning his attention to Stiles.

Stiles offered a small, genuine smile. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Derek answered as he relaxed some.

Stiles looked down at his hands, nibbling on his bottom lip. “My dad’s okay,” he finally uttered as he looked up. “You were right. He woke up from the initial coma almost a year after the car crash,” he explained. “Peter kept him under lockdown. He … he put him in the medical coma a few weeks before I went to see him. He wanted my dad’s mind stable when he …”

“You don’t have to tell me, Stiles,” Derek stated, sparing him from reliving the details. “I’m glad he’s awake, though.”

Stiles nodded, nervously tapping his fingertips on the metal table. “You didn’t kill Scott.”

Derek carefully evaluated Stiles before releasing a sigh. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“You didn’t want me to think you were a good guy,” Stiles corrected him, his voice soft like a child arguing against a parent’s logic.

“I’m not a good guy, Stiles,” Derek answered.

“You’ve done a lot for me, Derek,” Stiles argued as he looked up at him.

“I’ve also done a lot to you,” Derek added.

Stiles suddenly slipped his hand into Derek’s, his nimble fingers trembling as they tightened their hold. “Please don’t … don’t say that it didn’t mean anything. Don’t take that from me.”

“It did mean something, Stiles,” Derek started, wishing that Stiles would stop looking at him like he mattered. “It means that whatever you’re thinking can happen between us can’t.”

“You don’t even know what I want to happen between us,” Stiles argued.

“I’m on trial for murder, Stiles,” Derek stated. “I should be on trial for more than just Peter’s death.” He looked away from Stiles. “I’m just like Peter, I just didn’t get to his level yet.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Stiles snapped. “You’re nothing like Peter. You’re infinitely better than him.”

“You didn’t know me before I got out,” Derek explained. “I did things I can never undo, Stiles. I hurt people—I changed their lives for the worst. What I did to you can never be undone.”

“What you did _for me_ ,” Stiles corrected him. “And I don’t care about what you did in the past. You changed. You wanted to get out—you did! You came back to stop Peter, not to succeed him.”

“Which is why I’m walking away now,” Derek stated with finality. “I’m a dead man, Stiles.”

“You’re using that as an excuse,” Stiles answered. “You’re scared to be happy, aren’t you? You don’t want to admit that there is something here—that we could be something.” He shook his head. “Haven’t you punished yourself enough?”

“Time’s up, Stiles,” Derek stated when he saw the guards coming back in.

“Derek,” Stiles softly stated his name, a small plea for him to say he could stay longer—that he could see him again.

Derek pulled his hand out of Stiles’, folding his hands in on each other. “Don’t come back here, Stiles. If you do care about me … don’t come back.”

Stiles nodded in acceptance. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he weakly commented.

The silence held as Stiles rose from his seat, refusing to look at Derek. He hurriedly made his way out, leaving Derek and the guards behind.

~*~

Derek wasn't surprised when the FBI filed a complaint against him for going against direct order. They detailed how he was no longer undercover when he went after Peter, implying that he went to the Red Wolf with the intent on killing Peter. They weren't entirely wrong. Derek knew that when he headed to the Red Wolf that he would likely kill Peter. He'd do anything to protect Stiles from that life—from the monster his uncle became.

Derek wasn't surprised when the first few days of his trial consisted of the prosecution calling in testimonies from his fellow federal agents—all discrediting him as a person with intent to use physical harm to get his way. He wasn't surprised at all when they called Ennis to testify, knowing that he must have made a deal. He wasn't surprised either when Lydia ripped his testimony apart.

Derek listened to the testimonies with little interest, knowing what the final verdict would be. He'd be surprised if he didn't get the death penalty.

~*~

It was the last day of Derek's trial when Lydia called Stiles to the stand to testify. Stiles had refused the prosecution, but he readily accept Lydia's invitation to testify in defense of Derek.

“The defense calls Meonenim Stilinski to the stand,” Lydia stated with authority, ignoring the surprised look befalling Derek’s features.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek lowly growled at her.

“You agreed to let me be your lawyer, so I’m doing my job,” Lydia quietly snapped at him as she watched Stiles being sworn in.

“Lydia, he can’t lie for me,” Derek stated in hushed tones.

“He’s not going to. He told me he wanted to help. I’ve heard his side of the story a thousand times, Derek. Just trust me,” Lydia answered, as she stood up.

“Mr. Stilinski, can you identify the defendant for us,” Lydia started moving to aimlessly walk around the floor a bit.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles calmly stated as he leaned close to the microphone.

“How do you know Mr. Hale?” Lydia asked.

“Objection, your honor, what is the point?” The prosecutor started to stand.

“If you let me make it, you’ll know what it is,” Lydia snapped back.

“Overruled,” the judge stated, gesturing for Lydia to continue.

“Derek’s uncle—Peter Hale—owned the club where I danced,” Stiles stated.

“When did you meet Derek?”

“About a year ago. Actually it was the night before his sister’s funeral. Peter had asked for Derek to join him at the club. The Red Wolf.”

“And Derek accepted his uncle’s request?”

“He didn’t really have a choice.”

“Meaning?”

“Peter wasn’t someone you said no to.”

“So, the night before his sister’s funeral, Derek came into the Red Wolf to speak with Peter.”

“Yes, I was dancing at the time, but I spoke with Derek afterwards,” Stiles answered.

“Was that your only interaction with the defendant?” Lydia questioned.

“No,” Stiles stated.

“How would you describe your relationship with Derek Hale?”

“I’m unclear what you mean,” Stiles hesitantly stated.

“Did you have a sexual relationship with Derek Hale?” Lydia asked.

“Objection!”

“Overruled, counselor,” the judge answered. “Go ahead and answer the question, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Yes,” Stiles finally stated, causing a small murmur to go through the room.

The judge banged his gavel in an attempt to quiet the room.

“Did Peter Hale know about this relationship?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Stiles hesitated, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Peter told me … On several different occasions that he planned on being my first sexual partner.”

“In your own words, Mr. Stilinski, what happened the night of Peter Hale’s death?” Lydia asked as she leaned against the defense’s table, placing her hands against the tabletop.

“Derek had come into the club that night to see me,” Stiles started. “We were talking by the bar when Peter came over and interrupted us. He told …” His voice cracked as he remembered the way he had to lure Peter away from killing Derek. “He told Ennis to take Derek into the alleyway out behind the club. He ordered Ennis to ‘ _take care of_ ’ Derek. Like before, he flaunted having control over me … about what he planned on doing.”

“What did Peter plan to do to you?” Lydia asked.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “He planned to have sex with me … he thought I wanted to have sex with him, but …”

“But you didn’t.”

“I never wanted to have sex with Peter,” Stiles firmly stated.

“After Peter told Ennis to bring Derek out back, what happened?”

“He brought me to his office,” Stiles paused, looking down at his hands as he recalled the events.

“Take your time, Stiles,” Lydia offered, knowing it was hard to rethink of those moments—moments he thought he was going to die, or worse, be alive and at Peter’s mercy.

_Stiles’ skin crawled wherever Peter’s hands touched and burned wherever his mouth tried to claim. His stomach was tied in knots as he thought about Derek. He let Peter push him against the desk, the same spot Derek had done the night of Stiles’ birthday. He clamped his eyes shut as he tried to picture Derek, desperate to feel something besides dirty._

_“Peter,” Stiles softly called his name to garner his attention. “Peter, stop,” he firmly stated when he realized that he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the feeling of Peter’s hands touching him in the same places Derek had. It was wrong—it was tainting what he had shared with Derek._

_But Peter didn’t listen. He never listened._

_“Please stop,” Stiles tried again, moving to press his hand against Peter’s chest._

_That was when his hand brushed against Peter’s gun, holstered just under his arm._

_Stiles spread his legs wider, accommodating Peter to push closer to him. He allowed Peter’s hands to roam his body as a distraction. He pushed against Peter when he took hold of the gun’s grip. When Peter slipped the last button of Stiles’ shirt undone, he pulled the gun from its holster._

_Stiles wasn’t sure if Peter had been expecting it, or if somehow Peter reacted on instinct. They ended up scuffling for the gun, tumbling over one another. Stiles used the long nature of his limbs to his advantage, eventually being the one in possession of the gun._

“I asked him to stop,” Stiles stated. He shook his head. “But he wouldn’t stop. I tried to defend myself, and that was when Derek came in.”

“Derek walked in on Peter attacking you?” Lydia asked.

“Yes,” Stiles stated. His eyes drifted over to Derek as he added, “Derek saved my life.”

Lydia nodded to herself. “Thank you, Mr. Stilinski.” She turned towards the prosecution. “Your witness,” she curtly stated before triumphantly sitting beside Derek.

The prosecution tried to tie Stiles’ version of the events up into knots, but only succeeded in hurting themselves. Everyone could see the way the jurors turned a sympathetic eye to Stiles.

When Lydia put Derek on the stand, he felt as if he was going to vomit.

“Could you describe what you knew about your uncle’s relationship with Mr. Stilinski?” Lydia asked.

“Peter forced Stiles to dance at the Red Wolf in return for paying Stiles’ father’s medical bills,” Derek stated.

“Right, medical bills that were established earlier as fabricated by Peter Hale,” Lydia supplied the jury with a recap.

“Peter controlled where Stiles went, who he talked to, even how he dressed,” Derek continued. “Peter would often touch Stiles, mostly inappropriately and against Stiles’ will.”

“Objection! He can’t possibly know Mr. Stilinski’s feelings about Peter Hale’s advances.”

“I think everyone in the courtroom could see from earlier how Stiles felt,” Derek snapped at the prosecutor.

“Order,” the judge banged his gavel when the entire courtroom began to murmur. “Please just stick with answering the questions asked of you, Mr. Hale,” he said as a warning. “That being said, I’ll allow Ms. Martin to continue her line of questioning.”

“The night of Peter’s death,” Lydia started once the judge gestured her to. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“I was worried for Stiles’ safety, so I returned to the Red Wolf to get him away from Peter,” Derek explained. “Peter placed a gun to my back at the bar while I was speaking with Stiles. Ennis took me into the alleyway to execute me. He told me to get down on my knees and keep my hands up. Erica Reyes had seen Ennis bringing me outside, and followed. She proceeded to knock him unconscious.”

“And what happened afterwards?” Lydia asked.

“I ran back inside to see if Stiles was okay,” Derek answered.

“And what did you think was going to happen to Stiles?”

“I’ve seen the things my uncle has been capable of. When I was younger, I used to be on the receiving end of a few of his punches when he flew into his rages. I thought … I thought he was going to kill Stiles.” Derek took a deep breath before releasing it. “When I opened the office door … Stiles’ clothes were disheveled, he was crying … Peter moved towards Stiles, and I thought he meant to kill him. I drew my service weapon and I discharged three rounds of ammunition.”

The entire room was silent, almost as if everyone was too afraid to make a sound.

The rest was a blur.

Derek was surprised when the prosecutor and Lydia both approached the bench at the judge’s urging while the jury convened on a verdict. The prosecutor nodded in agreement, the rigidness in Lydia’s shoulders seeming less severe than before.

Derek stood when the jury finally reconvened.

Guilty.

“Derek Hale,” the judge started, forcing Derek to look at the man. “You’ve lead a life far more complex than most men even dream. You’ve been accused and acquitted of several crimes that would leave men with nightmares. You’ve been graced and relieved of a badge that was meant to help you uphold the law. You’ve admitted by your own testimony that you shot and killed your uncle, in attempts to save a young man’s life.

“Both parties, as well as jury, are in agreement that you acted in imperfect self-defense. You believed your uncle meant to cause Mr. Stilinski harm, in more than one way. With the evidence provided to us, the murder charge has been reduced to involuntary manslaughter, with a maximum sentence of four years, with chance of early parole.”

Derek closed his eyes as he released a heavy sigh.

He wasn’t a dead man.

~*~

**_Two Years, Six Months Later_ **

Derek never felt better in his old clothes. He slipped his wallet in his back pocket, slipping the watch Laura had gotten him for his birthday onto his wrist. He nodded in thanks to the clerk, moving to exit. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to feel finally being able to walk around free, without bars surrounding him.

Derek squinted his eyes when the guards finally let him head out the doors, the sunlight brighter than he thought. He looked down at the ground, hesitating to step over the threshold. He had more than one new scar, his time in prison not completely risk free. His shoulders felt lighter though, as if he didn’t have anything weighing him down. It was a freeness he only knew once before—when he was still a child and knew nothing about the family business.

Derek pushed himself to take the first step, allowing him to take in his first breaths of freedom. His walk was slow, calmly paced as he thought about walking back towards the center of town before calling Erica to come get him. That was when he caught sight of his old Camaro— _Laura’s_ Camaro—sitting on the other side of the street. A lone figure stood beside it, leaning against the door.

Derek prided himself in being calm as he walked over to the car before stopping in front of none other than Stiles.

“How does it feel to be a free man?” Stiles asked, as if two and a half years hadn’t passed by since they last saw each other.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Derek asked, tossing his jacket and small bag of belongings through the Camaro’s open window.

“You told me that if I cared about you, I wouldn’t come back,” Stiles explained. “Well, I didn’t go _inside_ the prison, so I technically listened to what you said.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “You’re the one that always wrote back to me.”

“Every ten letters,” Derek replied.

“Which was rude, by the way,” Stiles stated. “I’m a hot commodity, you know. And there I was, slaving away over nicely written letters to your criminal ass.” He placed his hands on his hips, a small attempt to appear serious in his rant. He looked at Derek, a small frown tugging at his lips. “You know … you never answered my last letter.”

Derek still had all of Stiles’ letters. They were tucked away in the bag that now rested beside his jacket in the Camaro. Stiles wrote about whatever he wanted, keeping Derek up to date with everything that was happening with his dad to what attending University was like. He always had signed each and every letter with a simple _Yours_ , never his name.

“It was hard answering your letters,” Derek offered. “Felt as if I would just pull you back while you were moving forward.”

Stiles nodded, knowing what Derek meant. “We’re both pretty different from before, Derek.”

“Yeah,” Derek solemnly agreed. He arched his eyebrow in question when he saw Stiles’ hand fly into his view. He quizzically looked at Stiles.

“My name’s Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles started. “I’m a University student in his second year who still doesn’t know what he’s going to major in. You seem like a pretty interesting person, and I’m pretty sure I’d like to get to know you more.”

Derek let his smile slowly grow as he ducked his head in amusement. He slipped his hand into Stiles’, giving his hand a firm shake. “Derek Hale. Currently unemployed.”

Stiles laughed at that. “Philanthropist works too.”

“Currently unemployed philanthropist it is,” Derek added.

“So, Derek Hale,” Stiles began as he took a step closer to Derek, easily crowding into his space. “Would you like to get to know me?”

“I’d love to,” Derek easily answered.

Stiles immediately wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him in close. He pressed his face into Derek’s shoulder, overjoyed when Derek’s arms moved to hold him close.

They took things slow. They built their time together, learning everything they could about each other—including the small things. There were still certain songs Stiles couldn’t listen to without suffering panic attacks, just as Derek couldn’t stand in a crowd for more than a few seconds without excessive paranoia gnawing at his mind. They worked together to perfect routines that allowed them to overcome their fears.

Derek made a point to never kiss Stiles’ forehead, just as Stiles made a point to never sneak up behind Derek. Stiles constantly awoke with Derek’s arms wrapped around him, or being used at Derek’s pillow. Derek was constantly used as Stiles’ blanket whenever his feet grow too cold while relaxing on the couch.

They built a life together free of the lives they knew before. Together, they simply walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


End file.
